Friday, November 2, 2007

learn to relax this time (cut-up spam poem)

who started this talk - another bitch?

"He always lied to me and sent me
off to market, to a whip ball or concert,
monkey or something, on one pretext
or another, when I drunk hope…”

extreme pitiless, recent mustard victim,
grass-cutter sobbed convulsively hiding
her face, both hands like different screws,
misused in swimming - no way

to start this talk, not at all.

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